


Dog Park

by RainyForecast



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Laura Hale, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, At least I feel like it's pretty cute, Derek adopts a dog, Derek is a precious clueless goober, Dogs, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Alternating, Panic Attacks, background scallison, because reasons, but there is a coffeeshop, dogs!, meet cute, not a coffeeshop AU exactly, panic disorder
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-03-20 00:56:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3630678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainyForecast/pseuds/RainyForecast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Big brown eyes will be Derek's downfall, every damn time. </p><p>AKA</p><p>Derek is a hapless new dog owner, and Stiles has an eerily well trained ex-police dog.</p><p>Edit: Additional tags will be added as things evolve. And thanks so, so SO much for the sweet comments and kudos. This is only my third foray (and the first was a FF.net thing we do not talk about!) into fanfic and the encouragement means so much!</p><p>Beta'd by Fatal_mystique</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You've Adopted A Dog, Now What?

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Stiles uses Polish commands with his dog. I found them on a dog training site, but they might be wonky. 
> 
> Translations here: http://www4.uwsp.edu/psych/dog/languag2.htm

Stiles wakes up to the clock blinking 4:47 am, a racing pulse, and eighty pounds of anxious German Shepard nearly smothering him. With a grunt, he rolls Ace off of his chest and swings his legs over the edge of the bed. Elbows on his knees, he follows the breathing pattern his therapist recommended. Inhale for five heartbeats. Hold it for seven. Exhale for nine. Ace worries his head in under Stiles’ arms and beats his tail on the rug in sympathy. Eventually, the last shreds of the panic attack fade away and Stiles manages to stroke Ace’s head, fingers digging in around the dog’s soft ears just the way he likes. _It’s too fucking early for this,_ Stiles thinks, then groans aloud as he remembers that it’s Saturday. And there’s no way he’s getting back to sleep now. With a spiteful glare at the clock, he shuffles to the kitchen to make coffee. Might as well take Ace to the dog park like he was planning. After that panic attack, he supposes he’d rather go at a quiet time then there’s no one else around, anyway. 

***

Derek has done stupid things in his life. Scratch that, Derek has done a _lot_ of stupid things in his life. Adopting this dog, however, may have been one of the stupidest. The dog currently quivering under his bed _like a rabbit_. It was the eyes, Derek decided. He’s always been a sucker for big, brown, Bambi eyes. And when he’d passed the greyhound rescue group’s adoption event outside of his usual grocery store, he’d been completely taken in. Now there is an incredibly nervous dog camping out under his guest room bed and he’s not quite sure what one does in this kind of situation. Derek is a _cat person_ , for fuck’s sake. As evidenced by the massive Maine Coon sprawled in the hallway; the cause for the dog’s terror, apparently. What even is his life. Mazzi is purring loudly, in apparent satisfaction at inspiring the dread and fear she thinks she deserves. Derek eyes her. “You are not helping.” Mazzi yawns with extreme nonchalance, and Derek returns to attempting to pry his dog out from under the bed. It’s early. He might as well try taking her out. It’s 6 am. No one should be at the dog park this at this hour. 

 

***

There is a man trying to crawl under a bush at the dog park. At least that’s what it looks like. Stiles is on alert at first, wondering if the man is drunk or high, then does a double take at the man’s…assets. His body is twisted awkwardly, wide shoulders half wedged under the greenery and knees planted on the ground. _Don’t,_ Stiles’ brain tells him; but against his better judgement he drifts closer, curiosity niggling at him. And then everything is a thousand times worse. The man is _cooing_ at something under the bush in a soft tenor belied by his impressive musculature. 

“C’mon baby. It’s okay; everything’s okay. Nothing to worry about. Please, sweetheart, c’mon.”

Stiles is going to die. He backs away, but then Ace gives out a quiet _whuf_? and the man jerks and around. And _shit_. Now Stiles really _is_ going to die. Because this guy’s _face_? Is going to kill him. To death. _Cheekbones_ , his brain screams unhelpfully. _EYES_. Unearthly, greenbluegold eyes that Adonis McPerfectButt is blinking at him in either confusion or embarrassment. There are twigs stuck in his inky hair. Stiles fights an irrational impulse to reach over and pull them out. But then, Adonis’ severe eyebrows lower in a scowl. “Get your dog away. It’s scaring my dog.” Stiles glances down at Ace, who looks the picture of calm obedience. He raises an eyebrow at Adonis. 

“Yeah, man, better get this raging monster out of here.” Adonis’ frown deepens and Stiles sighs. Apparently when blessed by the gods with biceps like that, you don’t get an appreciation for sarcasm to go with them. Which bodes poorly for Stiles. Anyway. Nobody glares at Ace that way, no matter how hot they are. Ace is  an officer and a _gentleman_. “ _Stoj_ ,” Stiles tells his dog, who gets to his feet at the command. Sneer at his dog? He’s definitely going to show off a little. “ _Naprzod_ , ” he says, flicking his finger the barest amount out towards the other end of the fenced dog park. Ace lopes away gracefully, then turns toward Siles when he reaches the fence. “ _Waruj. Zostan_.” Stiles calls. Ace sinks to the grass and stays, tongue lolling as he waits to be called back. Stiles looks sideways to clock Adonis’ reaction. He is gratified to see that the man’s bold eyebrows have arched up in surprise, even if his frown remains in place. 

“What was that?” Adonis asks, in spite of himself, it seems. 

“Polish,” Stile replies. Adonis looks like he might want to say something else, but there is suddenly a forlorn little whimper from underneath the bush. Adonis’ attention snaps back towards it, and he crouches down again. Stiles does too, wanting to see what kind of dog a man rocking the Handsome-Malcontent-And/Or-Serial-Killer look  so well  owns. If it's a Yorkie he’s going to piss himself laughing. 

It’s not a Yorkie. When Stiles looks peers under the foliage, he is met with the narrow nose and liquid eyes of a very terrified greyhound. “Aw man,” he croons automatically at the sight of her. Adonis sighs. 

“She’s…well, I just adopted her. She’s always like this. I don’t know what to do.”

Stiles can’t with this. Just, no. But he has to ask. “Off the track?”

Adonis nods. “There was this adoption event…” He trails off. _Fucking hell_. This fucking fucker is not allowed to do cute things like adopt traumatized former racing greyhounds. Stiles is not mentally prepared. He should just collect Ace and leave. But then the greyhound whines again, softly, and Stiles gives up. 

“Well, usually racing dogs are kept around other dogs all the time. They have more social contact with them then humans sometimes, even if they're crated most of the time. She probably doesn't know what to do without other dogs around. They’re pack animals.” Adonis nods in agreement at this, then frowns deeper than ever. 

“They keep them crated all the time?” Stiles nods, and Adonis _bares his teeth._ “Rat bastards,” he spits out. _Holy hell._ It’s too late. Stiles is over the edge. The crush has fully materialized. _Nice work, Stilinski._

“How about I call Ace over again? He’s really calm, he might help her actually feel better.”

Adonis looks back at Ace, then considers Stiles for a moment. “Okay,” he says. 

***

Brown Eyes calls out something that sound like “Domnyeh” to his beautiful and _terrifyingly_ well trained German Shepard. Derek feels utterly incompetent. Look at him, he can’t even get his dog out from under a damn shrub. Brown Eyes probably thinks he’s an idiot. It doesn't help that Derek is not a little unmoored by Brown Eyes’ sharp jaw and dark eyelashes. And his _mouth._ It takes Derek everything he has not to stare. Add to that soft-looking hipster bedhead and his effortless control of his dog? Derek feels a shiver work its way down his spine, then immediately feels terrible about ogling some random guy when his own poor dog is still having a nervous breakdown. The German Shepherd has settled back down next to his owner, and Brown Eyes sits on the ground as well, stretching his (long, gorgeous) legs out in front of him. “Let’s try just hanging out here for a minute,” he says to Derek. “See if she relaxes.” Derek lowers himself to the damp grass, feeling the tips of his ears grow hot when his arm brushes against Brown Eyes’ plaid sleeve. He hopes Brown Eyes doesn't notice. “Go on, bud,” the other man says to his dog. _Ace_ , Derek reminds himself, as the dog sort of belly-crawls towards the greenery and whines at….Derek really needs to get with it and name her already. 

“What’s his or her name?”

_Crap_. 

“Boudicca,” Derek decides  on the name at the same time that the words leave his mouth.

“Dude, rad.”

“Are you still in the nineties? And don’t call me 'dude,'” Derek hears himself snap caustically. _Oh no. Oh no no no._ Every time he gets socially on edge he gets _rude_. But Brown Eyes just laughs, face tilted up towards the morning sun, the elegant ( _biteable_ ) line of his neck making Derek feel shivery. 

“What’s your name, then?” Brown Eyes asks. He’s got a crooked smile that pulls up one corner of his mouth more than the other. “I’m Stiles.”

To tamp down any panic-induced snark about the oddness of the name, he just replies with “Derek” and looks away, back at their dogs. The dogs in question are sniffing each other’s butts, which is not helping the horrifying awkwardness of the situation any. Stiles has noticed too, and sniggers before admonishing Ace: “Bro. Take a lady to dinner first.”

Derek is not going to survive this.

***


	2. You've Got A Humungous Crush, Now What?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for the lovely comments and kudos <3 It lights a fire under me to keep going!
> 
> Please note that the tags have changed a bit. Also, I do not personally suffer from a panic disorder, but I will try and write about it as respectfully and accurately as possible.
> 
> This chapter is un-beta'd, because I got excited and couldn't wait. I will hopefully go back and edit out the mistakes. 
> 
> Some visuals:
> 
>  
> 
> Stiles and Ace: http://www.behindtheblueline.ca/blog/blueline/wp-content/uploads/DEC_24511.jpg 
> 
> Boudicca: http://ichef.bbci.co.uk/news/660/media/images/58198000/jpg/_58198629_zrick5.jpg
> 
> Mazzi: http://raarup.eu/images/milly/070603-014s.jpg

Derek does, surprisingly enough, survive the rest of his encounter with Stiles. They sit for a while in the wet grass while Boudicca and Ace tentatively make friends. It’s just gotten to the point where the quiet is getting awkward when Stiles’ phone suddenly starts blasting the Star Wars theme. 

“Sorry, gotta take this,” he says, and unfolds himself as he rises to his feet. He walks off a ways to answer the phone. “Scotty. What’s up?”

Derek busies himself with running his finger’s through Ace’s ruff, not wanting to eavesdrop. Ace sighs in satisfaction and flops down on top of Derek’s legs. Boudicca hovers just out of arm’s reach, wary. Derek reaches out his hand to her, and she is sniffing at it tentatively when Stiles returns. “Aw man,” he says, smiling widely down at Derek and Ace. Derek’s heart absolutely does not stutter in his chest. Nope. “You’re hijacking my dog.” Ace thumps his tail at the sound of his owner’s voice, but scrabbles his legs to plaster himself even closer to Derek’s torso. He has an entire lapful of affectionate German Shepard at this point.  “Ace, have a little dignity, bro.” Ace slobbers in Derek’s face in reply. “Sorry,” Stiles says to Derek. “Sometimes he acts well trained and sometimes he devolves into a giant doofus.” Derek laughs, and lets Ace continue licking all over his face. 

“It’s fine. He’s great,” he tells Stiles. When Derek looks up at Stiles again, Stiles isn’t smiling anymore, though. He’s staring at the two of them, and there’s a red flush high on his cheekbones. Derek has a brief moment of panic wondering if his fly is down or something. But then Stiles seems to shake off his momentary lapse. 

“Alright, man. It was nice to meet you, but I just got called in to work. Good luck with Boudicca.” He whistles sharply at Ace, then repeats the command from earlier that sounded like “domnyeh,” and that Derek figures means “come.” The dog surges up and trots after his master, tail swinging happily. Derek just sits and watches both of them leave, feeling a weird fizzing in the pit of his stomach that bodes nothing good. 

***

Stiles lets Ace jump up into the back seat of his Jeep, then slams the door closed. He sits, hands on the steering wheel for a moment, thoughts bouncing between the call from Scott telling him that it’s all hands on deck at the lab, and Derek’s unfairly attractive _everything_. Mulling over the encounter makes him strangely pensive as he puts the Jeep in gear and heads towards his apartment to drop Ace off. It’s been a long, long time since he’s been this smitten with someone. Of course, he always has fallen fast and hard, if not often. Usually with people miles out of his league. And, of course, the familiar bitter thoughts swirl up. Such as the fact that, even if Derek was into him (which he _isn’t),_ Stiles feels like he’s too much of a mess right now to inflict himself upon a significant other. Adopting and working with Ace has helped him tremendously, but he still has panic attacks. Sometimes he has ones in his sleep that leave him wide awake and soaked in sweat. And the frustration is that he can’t explain them to most people’s satisfaction. Apart from his mother’s death when he was young, he hasn’t had a particularly traumatic life. His job at the forensics lab doesn’t bother him. He just…is who he is. A person with a panic disorder. Which has inexplicable flared up in the last two years. 

He shakes himself out of his dark thoughts when he realizes he’s been sitting at an intersection long enough for a chorus of impatient honks to erupt behind him. He curses, and focuses harder on the drive home. 

***

There's a soft rain pattering on the roof the next morning, and the light coming in through the sheer curtains is watery and gray. Derek takes the time to lie in bed past his alarm, as Mazzi sprawls over his chest, purring rumbling throughout the room. She loves it when he sleeps in. Mazzi, he assumes, would prefer he spend all of his time bedridden so she could lazily drape herself over him whenever she wanted. He's not sure where Bo is at the moment, until he hears the soft tick-tick of her nails on the floor. The sound stops, then, to his amazement, he sees her long face peering over the edge of the foot of the bed. He holds his breath. She lays her muzzle on the blankets and stares at him. “Hey baby girl,” he says quietly. She snuffles, then her head disappears. There is the soft tick-tick again, growing louder. Her head reappears, this time, close to his hand. Keeping his movements slow, Derek uses two fingers to scratch gently against the side of her head, near her softly furled ears. She closes her eyes and heaves a shuddering, doggy sigh. Derek feels a suspicious prickling behind his eyes, but he is not giving in to the impulse, he decides. Instead, he scritches harder at Bo’s ears, and she leans into his hand with a contented grumble.Derek always thought the expression “and then my heart melted” was a bit hyperbolic, but his own seems to be suddenly puddled in the region of his diaphragm. Sure, Bo edges away when he sits up and Mazzi is dislodged, but the moment remains. It’s going to be a good day, he feels sure of it. 

***

It’s going to be a terrible day, Stiles feels sure of it. He’s had a crappy night, and now it’s raining. Fucking great. He takes Ace on a run anyway, and arrives home soaked to the skin. Ace, naturally, shakes himself violently the second they get back inside the apartment. “You reek, buddy,” he chastises his dog. Ace just lets his tongue loll goofily out of his mouth as he pants. _Majestic_   Stiles thinks with a snort. 

He’s not even that excited about the fact that he has today off. He’s got nothing to _do_. The fiber analysis rush job from yesterday is taken care of. There’s nothing he wants to see on Netflix at the moment. Scott is taking Allison to a Lamaze class, so bro time is out. He’d like to get himself and Ace out of the apartment, though. In the end, his empty cupboards decide for him. “No coffee” is not an option for today, or any day. He showers, collects Ace, and heads into town to hit up Blue Moon Coffee.  


***

Stiles can’t help but feel a little better as he opens the door to his favorite coffeeshop. The amazing smell that billows out tells him that today is one of the days they’re roasting a new batch of coffee beans in the back. Really, the only reason he doesn’t come here every day is because usually he has trouble getting up early enough to go before work. That and he’d probably go broke, or gain fifty pounds courtesy the amazing danishes Blue Moon sells. 

Just as welcome as the coffee aroma is the owner, Laura Hale. She has long black hair, colorful tattoos running up both arms, and a sense of humor just as snarky as Stiles’ own. She’s easily one of Stile’s favorite people, and she happens to be manning the counter today.

“Hey Stiles!” Laura grins at him from behind the espresso machine. “How’s your handsome boy?” 

“Sulking outside, because health code violations.”

Laura pretends to pout. “It’s your fault for letting him jump onto the counter after the bacon paninis.”

“Excuse you, my back was turned. And you were the one tempting him with said bacon panini. And it’s really not my fault that the health inspector made a surprise visit just then.”

Laura throws her head back and laughs. Stiles feels his mood lift even more. Laura has that effect. 

“Speaking of dogs, my brother just adopted one, wanna see?” Laura pulls her cell phone out of her apron pocket and scrolls through her photos, before presenting Stiles with a photo of a familiar brindled dog. Stiles does a double take. 

“Boudicca!”

“Bo-dee what now?” Laura asks.

“I ran into this guy-your brother, I guess, at the dog park yesterday morning. He was trying to coax his new greyhound rescue out from under a bush. And Boudicca was a badass Celtic warrior queen, peasant.”

Laura laughs brightly. “What a dork. I’m surprised that he even adopted her, he’s typically a cat person. Guess he’s just a sucker for big brown eyes.” She winks meaningfully at Stiles, and he has no clue why. Laura is a force unto her own. He likes her tremendously, but he doesn't pretend to understand her. “Also, leave it to Derek to give his dog such a nerdy historical name.” 

“It’s a cool name.” Stiles doesn’t really want to examine his reasons for defending Derek’s choice of pet nomenclature. 

Laura hums noncommittally and turns her attention to the americano she’s making. “How was my baby bro? Socially inept as ever?”

“Um-“

“Derek’s not fantastic with people. But he’s a great guy, very sweet. Even if he has terminal resting bitch face.”

Stiles muffles his snicker with a cough. “ Naw. A little lost regarding his dog though. But any guy who adopts an off-the-track greyhound seems like a pretty good person.” He picks abstractedly at the sleeve of his coffee cup as his mind wanders to Derek’s softer-than-expected voice, his astonishing eyes, the width of his shoulders. He looks up to see Laura looking at him thoughtfully, hazel eyes bright. Now that he knows she and Derek are siblings, he can see the resemblance. She looks ready to say something when the bell on the door tinkles, pulling her attention from Stiles. 

“DER!” She shrieks gleefully. “We were just talking about you!” Stiles feels his stomach lurch. He slowly turns around. Sure enough, it’s Derek, hair spangled with rain. He’s wearing dark-rimmed glasses ( _fuck_ ) which have fogged up. 

He wipes them off with a muttered “Hey Laura.” When he puts them back on, however, his eyes land on Stiles, and he freezes. 


End file.
